Roses and rain, love and spring. How could one have love without roses and thoughts of spring? Some may love alone without roses and some may love alone without spring soft cool rains chill to the greening and glee. As I

walked the grey mists in head bent prayers damp steps

drew me back to shadows. Light in depth

and in stride walked the words. Thought the words as the poetry walked with

me.

In a curious meld of art, self, a quiet place in the All and

I wanted to run.

To dive into the roses and love, into the mist and the greening

into the seasons and view dreams that only

Dreams view

one fast frame at a time rather like a poem

or prayer

silent spent in the mist.

The trees on the ridge seemed to wave, a bit as the breeze became soft, the drizzle less of a chill, and I ran into the rain